


Pleasure Points

by Blissymbolics



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie's a slut for pain, M/M, Masochism, Massage, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Richie really likes asmr videos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blissymbolics/pseuds/Blissymbolics
Summary: “I fucking knew this was a kink,” Eddie says, obediently lying on his back on the carpet of their living room.“If this counts as a kink then I’m the most vanilla motherfucker in the classifieds,” Richie retorts while dribbling a healthy amount of oil into his palm.“Last time we did this you lasted five minutes before fucking me in the ass. How do I know I won’t get cheated out of my hour?”Eddie learns that massages can be unbearable, but in the best way.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 288





	Pleasure Points

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skeilig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeilig/gifts).
  * Inspired by [happy endings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260237) by [skeilig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeilig/pseuds/skeilig). 



“I fucking knew this was a kink,” Eddie says, obediently lying on his back on the carpet of their living room.

“If this counts as a kink then I’m the most vanilla motherfucker in the classifieds,” Richie retorts while dribbling a healthy amount of oil into his palm.

“Last time we did this you lasted five minutes before fucking me in the ass. How do I know I won’t get cheated out of my hour?”

“I can go jerk off in the bathroom if you want,” Richie offers, maybe only half joking.

“Just like the professionals,” Eddie deadpans, evoking a small laugh. “You can if you want. Or I can do it for you.”

“No, I’m good. Besides, I like the build up.” Richie kneels above Eddie’s head, looking at the expanse of his near-naked body, clothed in nothing more than his boxers.

Richie offered to give him a massage after waking up around 2:30 in the morning to see Eddie sitting up in bed clutching his leg, his silhouette dramatically framed against the dull light of the street. Eddie’s been getting charley horses in the middle of the night for the last week or so, and he got another one over dinner just from bending his leg at the wrong angle.

The rest of his muscles weren’t in the greatest shape either. He’s been running a lot, but admittedly not stretching as much as he should. He’s been getting tension migraines and his back feels like a knot that was tied by an overeager boy scout. He’s been meaning to schedule an appointment with a massage therapist for ages, but the first and only time he tried it, his anatomy betrayed him in humiliating fashion, so he’s avoided getting massages ever since.

Besides, why pay money for a professional when Richie was right here, and more than willing to get him off before, during, and after? Richie’s also surprisingly good at it. Sure, maybe he can’t name every specific muscle group or scientifically elucidate the nature of trigger points, but he did jokingly boast about his knowledge of draining toxins and breaking up stagnant acid crystals.

“Should I put on Enya or something?” Richie asks, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.

“No, I like the awkwardness of complete silence.”

“Works for me. Now relax and let me fuck you up.”

Without further adieu, Richie reaches underneath Eddie’s neck to gently pull up along the lateral muscles, which are so tight that even the surface-level pressure is enough to make him wince.

“I’m barely touching you,” Richie says in amusement, pausing to cup his fingertips around the base of his skull.

“You can go harder,” Eddie replies, breathing into Richie’s hold.

“Just let me know if anything’s too painful.” Richie bends his fingers further, lifting Eddie’s head slightly off the carpet, stretching the muscles in his neck while pressing into the nerves at the base of his skull.

“I don’t mind the pain,” Eddie says, already suitably blissed out. “I mean, don’t feel like you have to hold back.”

In response, Richie lifts his head a bit higher, narrowly crossing the threshold between discomfort and pain.

“Okay, just let me know if you need a break.”

“Will do,” Eddie replies, the ache in his neck usurping all his mental faculties.

The ensuring pain is intense, and sometimes he needs to rely on _very_ deep breathing to bear it, but he never considers telling Richie to stop. While gently cradling Eddie’s head in one hand, with the other he trails the tender band of muscle extending into his shoulder, and Eddie can actually feel the sensitive points where the muscles interconnect, like a complex sewing pattern.

The oil glides along his skin, Richie’s thumb stuttering whenever it traverses a deep knot. Anytime he comes across a sore spot, he localizes the source, rubs circles around it, and presses down until the nerves stop firing. Richie succeeds in pulling Eddie’s muscles out of their default positions, forcing them to move and adapt and breathe.

Next Richie’s hand migrate to his upper chest, where he pulls outward towards his armpits. The pressure from his fingers is sharp, but then he switches to the flat plane of his knuckles as he bears down with no small amount of weight.

That’s when Eddie lets out his first proper moan. Richie can definitely see how hard he is already, and probably has a shit-eating grin on his face because of it, but Eddie refuses to open his eyes to see it.

“The pressure okay?” Richie asks, his hands gliding across Eddie’s pecs with even weight.

“Yeah,” Eddie replies, followed by a small gulp.

Richie lets out a breathy laugh, then scoots to Eddie’s right to work on his arm.

Eddie had no fucking clue that every single muscle in his body was coiled tighter than a pair of headphones in the bottom of a bag. Everywhere Richie touches seems to elicit some unique, but equally pleasurable form of pain, which keeps it from becoming monotonous and predictable. It’s similar to how Richie can simultaneously suck on his neck, play with his nipples, and stroke his cock, each sensation different, but all falling under the broad umbrella of pleasure.

Richie also apparently knows more about anatomy than Eddie gave him credit for because he seems to be finding the outline of each muscle with impressive ease. He tracks them like a pencil over tracing paper, running through the tissue with the confidence of an expert. Eddie can already feel the endorphins firing, the way they do during a good run. And by the time Richie finishes with his bicep and forearm and begins kneading through the tissue of his hand, Eddie’s so overwhelmed that he doesn’t have to look in a mirror to know that his expression is definitely post-coital.

Richie rubs his thumb in circles around his palm, loosening the claw-like grip that Eddie’s developed over years of holding a pen ergonomically incorrect. Then Richie pulls on each of his fingers, the joints briefly separating before falling back into place.

“You’re really good at this,” Eddie says. “Suspiciously good.”

“I watch _a lot_ of ASMR videos.”

“Have you had much practice?”

“I’ve had a few test subjects. But none as eager as you.”

Eddie’s entire body is flushing. The pressure between his legs is less intense than the focused strength of Richie’s hands, but Eddie’s dick is definitely starting to get restless.

“So is it the touch or the pain that’s doing it for you?” Richie asks while standing up to step over Eddie’s body to work on his opposite arm.

“Mix of both, I think. The pain’s definitely doing more heavy lifting than I expected.”

Right on cue, he winces and lets out a gasp as Richie’s thumb glides over a patch of nerves, enflamed and angry. Richie notices, and returns to run the flat of his thumb over the spot a few more times, causing Eddie to curl his toes so tight one of them pops.

“Have you ever gotten a real massage?” Richie asks while running his oiled hands down Eddie’s forearm.

“Once. I got hard and it was so embarrassing I never did it again.”

“I don’t think they really care. I have a friend who says his clients get hard all the time.”

“Doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.”

“Fair. Well, don’t worry. Here at Richie’s Gentlemen’s Parlor, we make sure all our guests get the happy ending they deserve.”

Eddie’s hips actually twitch in response, prompting a laugh from Richie.

“It’s only been half an hour, Eds. You think you can last another?”

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Next time I’m jerking off beforehand.”

“Want me to take care of you now?”

Fuck, yes, of course Eddie wants that. But at the same time, he can’t help but wonder how amazing the relief will feel if he holds out until he truly can’t any longer. The arousal is still neutral enough that he doesn’t feel any emergency need to touch himself, and normally he’s so impatient that he never lets Richie play around with him, which is a shame since Richie clearly gets off on making him suffer.

“No, I’m good. Keep going,” Eddie replies, trying to direct his attention away from his crotch.

Richie tugs on each of his fingers, and a few let out satisfying pops.

“You think you can handle lying on your stomach?” Richie asks, trailing his fingers teasingly over Eddie’s chest.

“We’ll see how long I last,” Eddie says, then obediently rolls himself over and slowly lowers his pelvis onto the carpet, his erection pressing against his stomach, groaning as he tries to find the least offensive angle.

Richie moves to kneel above his head, vertically facing down his back. Then he slowly runs his palms down either side of his spine, the drag so deep it’s practically a burn, the weight forcing Eddie’s crotch harder against the rug.

“Jesus, you’re into this,” Richie mutters breathily. He switches out his palms for his thumbs, which evoke a pain that’s more blunt and direct, driving Eddie to release a string of indignant sounds.

Richie repeats the motion maybe twenty more times, alternating between his palms and thumbs, no doubt turning the skin of Eddie’s back bright red. The discomfort regresses with each stroke until his guarded muscles are fully relaxed.

Then Richie moves to the parallel columns of his neck. Eddie hisses as Richie’s knuckles glide over a series of knots, igniting small bursts of agony. Fuck, it’s so good. Eddie’s been getting recurring spasms in his neck for weeks, sometimes just from turning his head too far while parallel parking. He probably should’ve just swallowed his pride and paid for a massage months ago, but he’s also glad he didn’t since there’s no way he’d be able to get through an hour of this without making a mess on the table.

“You doing okay?” Richie asks cheekily, clearly enjoying the sight of Eddie’s restless hips.

“I feel like I’m watching porn and trying to hold off till the end,” Eddie replies.

Richie chuckles. “Want me to speed things up?”

“No, I’m good,” Eddie says before taking several very deep breaths.

“As you wish,” Richie replies, sweeping out over his ribs. “Hey, I want to try something a bit harsh. You up for it?”

“Do whatever you want,” Eddie replies. Richie could stretch him out on a medieval rack and Eddie would thank him for the privilege.

“You might eat those words,” Richie says before reaching down to take Eddie’s right hand and guide it to rest on his lower back.

“Tell me to stop at any point,” Richie prefaces right before running his thumb beneath the cavern of Eddie’s right shoulder blade.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie grits, the pain truly excruciating. It feels like Richie’s thumb is digging into him, grinding across the raw sinew.

“Just a few more times,” Richie says in a soothing voice, using his free hand to pin Eddie down so he can’t squirm.

“Where the fuck did you learn that?” Eddie asks.

“This nice physical therapy channel I sometimes jerk off to,” Richie answers, giving Eddie one last stroke that has him writhing and choking out a string of indecent moans. He’s never been harder in his life.

“Other side?” Richie asks.

“Let me breathe for a sec,” Eddie replies, his pain receptors still raw.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Richie says softly, running his open palms down Eddie’s back with minimal pressure, the soothing touch like a balm on his inflamed skin.

After maybe a minute Eddie’s ready for another round, so he voluntarily brings his left hand to rest on his lower back, lifting up his shoulder blade. For some reason, allowing Richie to touch him there feels extremely intimate. Objectively, he’s not sure how much damage Richie could cause with just his thumb, but it’s definitely a place where no one else has touched him before.

The pain is even more intense on his left side, but he can’t say why. But it’s that medicinal sort of pain that he knows will fade into abject relief. He might be sore for the next few days, but after that, all the nagging, bitter aches and cramps ought to be gone.

“Want me to crack your back?” Richie asks after he’s adequately smoothed out the tissue beneath his shoulder blade.

“Go for it,” Eddie replies. “Don’t know how much it’ll go.”

“Let’s give it a shot,” Richie says, placing his palms flat against his back. “Take a deep breath in, then breathe out.”

Eddie inhales slowly,Richie’s hands rising as his chest cavity expands. As he exhales, Richie presses down hard, and Eddie feels three joints in his spine pop back into place. Richie brings his hands down farther, instructing Eddie to breathe in again, and this time there are two more cracks, sharper and more intense than the first.

“One more,” Richie says, lowering his palms to Eddie’s mid-back. This time he only manages to bring out one small pop, but it still feels nice.

“I think that’s all I’m going to get,” Richie says, running his hands down Eddie’s back. “You’ll need a chiropractor for the rest.”

“Just snap me in half,” Eddie mumbles in a daze, the endorphins making him hazy.

Richie laughs. “Don’t mind if I do.” With that, Richie moves further down Eddie’s side. “Now if any of the videos I’ve watched are accurate, this one’s _really_ going to hurt. You think you’re up for it?” he asks while sliding a hand beneath the waistband of Eddie’s boxers, hovering around the area where his back merges into his ass.

“I don’t think my ass needs any work. You definitely get handsy with it enough.”

“Not your ass. Right here.”

Richie pushes his thumb right over the joint in Eddie’s hip, sending a jolt of pain straight up his spine, like an exposed wire sparking in a puddle of water.

“Jesus, what is that?”

“SI joint. According to YouTube’s finest fetish providers,” Richie says, dragging his thumb back over the region, the pain more excruciating than anything Eddie’s experienced in a long while. But there’s no sense of tearing or ripping, just a deep searing ache that shuts down his brain so effectively that he can’t think in any language other than chemical.

“Fuck…” Eddie groans, his muscles clenching and twisting without his permission as he instinctively tries to wriggle from Richie’s grasp.

Richie switches out his thumb for his palm, which is less intense, but it drives Eddie’s hips even harder into the carpet, his erection wet and throbbing.

“I can’t last much longer,” Eddie groans, plagued with a desperation he thought only existed in porn.

“Okay, let me do the other side real quick, then I’ll do your calves,” Richie says while standing up and stepping over Eddie’s back to crouch on the opposite side.

“Deep breath,” he says, dragging his thumb down the ridge of his pubic bone, digging into the tight ball of nerves right over the joint, lingering, wiggling his thumb as Eddie writhes beneath, all the pain receptors in his brain firing without command, spastic and trigger-happy. At this point he’s doing everything he can to hold back the impatient pressure between his legs, but each brutal stroke of Richie’s hand is followed by a sense of relief so arousing it’s addictive. His body is coated in sweat, hot and trembling. He never gets this wound up. He never lets himself get this desperate.

“Which has been cramping more? Left or right?” Richie asks, scooting down to hover over Eddie’s legs.

“Um… right,” Eddie says, taking a second to remember.

“Cool.”

Eddie can hear Richie squirting more oil into his hands before rubbing them together. It’s an arousing sound to begin with, but in Eddie’s current state it’s borderline pornographic and it’s taking all his willpower not to reach beneath his hips to give himself that last push he needs.

Then Richie makes contact, dragging his thumbs down the tight cord of Eddie’s calf.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps.

“It hurt too much?” Richie asks, easing the pressure.

“No, it’s good. Harder,” Eddie begs. God, he needs it harder.

Richie bears down deep.

Suddenly, the muscles in Eddie’s leg start fighting back. Richie’s grip triggers a cramp that tightens in anger, the bands contracting vindictively until the muscles are pulsating in a malicious spasm. His whole leg shudders involuntarily, but Richie keeps his hands in place, pressing right into the spot that provoked the convulsions.

“Shit,” Eddie gasps, his groin burning. The spasm is resilient, torturous, a cruel electric pain that causes him to hiss and groan as he presses his forehead into the carpet. The tension builds until he finally clears the apex, and the ropes begin to surrender their grip. Euphoria washes through him, and the relief is so intense he loses all sense of restraint and comes in his boxers, his toes curling as he grinds down harder and shamelessly ruts through it, Richie’s fingers still in place as the muscles of his calf relax back to their natural state.

Well, that was a spiritual experience for the history books. He lies there, blissed out, cheek pressed to the carpet, the come down somehow more enjoyable than the climax. Richie does a few more flat strokes down his leg, like ironing out a piece of cloth.

“I still need to do the left,” Richie says, smugly.

“Save it for tomorrow,” Eddie mumbles, dizzy and detached.

“The asymmetry will stress me out though.”

“Okay, give me a minute though,” Eddie sighs, his eyes rolling around unfocused. Pulses of pleasure are still drifting through him like a second heartbeat, radiating in his fingertips and tingling in his ears.

“In the meantime, can I come on your back?”

Eddie laughs. “Come in my fucking soup, I don’t care at this point.”

Richie laughs before crawling over him to kneel above his ass. Eddie closes his eyes and drifts into subspace, enjoying Richie’s heavy breathing and the rhythmic sound of him stroking his wet dick. It only takes maybe a minute before he moans and Eddie feels come hit his mid-back. Richie bends over to place a hand by Eddie’s head to steady himself, his panting tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

After taking a minute or so to catch his breath, Richie pushes himself up with a groan and lazily walks over to the side table to grab some tissues. He returns to wipe off Eddie’s back, which is still slick with oil.

“You ready for the left side?” Richie asks, crouching back down and placing his hands on Eddie’s calf.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, ready for the torture to begin anew.


End file.
